


London, 1984

by asexualizing (Specialcookies)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Activism, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternative Universe - 80's, Character Death, F/F, Gay Activist Amilyn, Historical Inaccuracy, Israeli character(s), Jewish Character(s), LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), Lebanon, London, Military Refernces, Minor Luke Skywalker/Han Solo, Past Leia Organa/Han Solo, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, References to a massacre, Refernces to Israeli culture, Slow Burn, עברית | Hebrew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-17 07:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14183955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Specialcookies/pseuds/asexualizing
Summary: After serving in the army during a war, Leia decides to leave Israel and move to London, where her aunt and uncle live. While trying to forget about everything she came from and trying to figure out where she's going, she meets an odd girl who makes her smile and looks too alive to give up on.Amilyn Holdo is just trying to be happy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright. This is... a bit over the top for me. It's a challenge I've taken upon myself because I wanted to write this very very badly and I hope it's not too fucking niche for anyone to care about but here we are. I'm posting this as a WIP, so the posting schedule is going to be irregular, but I'll do the best I can whenever I have the time to go on with this as fast as possible. Beyong what I'm posting right now I have the next chapter written and the rest planned.
> 
> I'll begin by saying that please feel free to ask me about anything you do not understand. Leia comes from Israel, in the 80's, and as such I expect there will be confusion. I try to explain within the fic as much as I can (and if you hover above certain things, such as words in Hebrew, there will be notes on them. So if you see something confusing, hover over it and there will probably be an explanation), but of course, if there is anything you'd like to ask me, please do.
> 
> I would also like to say that as much as I try to not make this the focus, this fic does touches upon the IDF and the conflict. I do not make any excuses for my country here, and I take full responsibility for our behaviour, but there is naunce here, and a bit more of a complicated picture than just "fuck Israel". If you want to talk to me about that I ask that you do this in messages on my [tumblr](https://asexualizing.tumblr.com) off anon.
> 
> This AU is very historicaly inaccurate so just please don't expect it to be anything other than that. I know it, and the whole premise of it is historicaly inaccurate. It's built on that.
> 
> Currently I'm putting a teen rating, but it will go up the further in we go.
> 
> And lastly, this AU is close to my heart in ways that are deeper than what I'm used to. I would really appriciate that if you like it you'd tell me.
> 
> Sorry about the blah blah blah, read on.

A girl walks into a pub. Plain brown hair gathered in a messy bun; plain black leather jacket, plain black Doc Martens, plain white T-shirt, plain washed-out green khakis. She looks around, unsure of where she ended up. Hands in her pockets, she skips the step at the door, proceeds deeper into the place, ignoring the questioning looks the regular residents give her. Reaching the bar, she leans on the wood at a corner not occupied by a group of lithe men, glitter shining in their hair. Running a finger on the dusty surface, she catches the bartender’s eyes.

A bartender approaches a girl. Drying her hands on her jeans, towel slung over her shoulder, she places two elbows on the dusty wood in the corner not occupied by the group of lithe men, glitter shining in their hair, and leans her chin on her hands. Flocks of turquoise hair completely out of place after long hours of work, head tilted to the side, she holds the girl’s gaze.

****א****

Amilyn Holdo has been around Soho for far too long to not know a person walking through her door. And this girl – short and sturdy, sharp brown eyes, the face of angels – she would have remembered, too.

“Hiya.” Amilyn smiles. “And where might you come from?”

The girl shifts her eyes to the tap. Doesn’t answer. With nearly perfect Queen’s English she says: “I’ll have a pint,” only Amilyn can’t recognize the underlying accent.

She gives her a mock salute, “Aye,” then turns on her heels to pull it. “A pint it is.”

Humming along to Echo and the Bunny Man, Amilyn waits impatiently for the glass to fill up. From the corner of her eye she watches the girl tap-tap-tap on the wood along the beat, staring blankly at the wall of bottles behind Amilyn.

“Ta,” she says as Amilyn slides the glass to her and proceeds to drown a good third of it.

“Can you do Cockney?” Amilyn wonders aloud. She didn’t intend to really ask, but she is interested in knowing.

“Pardon?” The girl wipes her mouth with her sleeve, lays the pint gently down. She takes her wallet out, and Amilyn begins to dread her departure from the corner of the bar not occupied by the group of lithe men, glitter in their hair and disdain in their mouths.

“Your proper’s good,” she hurries to say. The girl looks up at her with one raised eyebrow, open wallet, and a question in her sharp eyes: are you okay?

Right. That’s more like it.

Amilyn subdues. “Two fifty.”

She takes the exact amount that the girl hands her and puts it in the register. When she gets the courage to check, she is relieved to find out the girl did not abandon her corner. Amilyn occupies herself with wiping clean surfaces and polishing glasses for a few moments, until the girl finishes the whole pint, then gathers up the courage to approach her again with the excuse of servitude on her side.

“Alright?” she asks.

The girl hums, tilts the pint in indication for another. Amilyn obliges. The exchange happens with no questions asked this time.

Then, out of nowhere: “What’s your name?” The girl locks eyes with her.

Amilyn blinks. It really didn’t seem to be going this way. She might as well give the full answer. “Amilyn. Am, for short. Lyn, if you wanna get on my nerves. Ami, if you’re feeling old. Emile, if I were a man, probably…” She thinks she didn’t miss anything. Oh. “And Amilia if you’re my mother.”

For some reason, the full answer strikes a smile on the girl’s face. Amilyn likes it, her own lips quirking up as the girl, eyes still locked with Amilyn and a beam of that smile at their corners, drowns a third of her pint again. “I’m Leia,” she says as she swallows. It’s a weird pronunciation of that name, vowels much higher and shorter than Amilyn’s used to hearing in any of the people who come by here, but Amilyn lets it slide. Instead, she tries to come up with things that will keep Leia’s smile alight.

She settles on: “No need to shorten this one,” so she can keep the conversation rolling, which is a requirement in making people smile. If she’s careful enough she won’t get that raised eyebrow and that question in those sharp eyes.

“No, not really.” Leia’s smile faded already from her lips, but the beams of it are still at the corners of her eyes. Amusement suits her.

“I always have trouble with mine,” Amilyn drawls on. “It’s too long, or it’s too odd, or it’s too – “ she cuts herself short. _It’s too me,_ she doesn’t really want to say. _Too much_. Her mother hates it, her father doesn’t care for it. Her Granny was the only one who liked Amilyn enough to name her so. “But I like it,” she finishes, determined.

“I’ve never heard it before,” Leia admits, a bit coy, running her finger on the rim of her glass.

“I’ve never heard yours. At least, not with the ee and the ah. Leia.” She tries to imitate Leia’s accent, finds it acceptable enough on her tongue.

“That’s good, that was good,” Leia says, laughing. “Maybe you can do Cockney?”

Amilyn huffs, embarrassed, looks down and shakes her head. “I really can’t.” She had tried; many times, and many different accents. When people would look at her weird, trying to determine what her deal was; when people called her a dyke and she wanted to sound like one.

“What a shame,” Leia replies in nearly perfect Cockney.

Looking from below her lashes at Leia, Amilyn sees her glimmering.

“You’re good.”

“I try.”

As Leia pushes a loose strand of hair that fell in her eyes behind her ear, something shiny that is dangling from her neck catches Amilyn’s attention. It’s a necklace, thin and golden, a hexagram-shaped pendant at the tip.

“What’s this?” she gestures towards Leia’s chest with her chin.

Leia looks down, confused. “What’s what?”

“Your... star,” is the word that comes first to her mind.

“Oh.” Leia looks back up, but her thumb and forefinger closes around the pendant, and her gaze is once again lost to the space that surrounds Amilyn.

“Star of David,” she answers, sounds reluctant to do so. Amilyn’s not sure if she should push the subject or leave it. She had never heard about a star of David and is itching to learn more (does it come from a constellation? is it a symbol of something?), But what if it’s too heavy of a conversation to have while getting to know someone you might never ever see again. What if she should just talk about the rain that is probably pouring outside.

In her attempt to decide what’s the best course of action, she falls completely silent, stares dumbly at Leia’s fingers tracing the shape of the pendant. Her own fingers move on their own accord to her forearm, where the Aquarius constellation tattooed on her body is covered by the sleeve of her jumper.

“It’s…” Leia begins, pulling Amilyn out of her reverie, but falls quiet once again and drinks her beer. Amilyn watches as her face transform back to a blank expression.

“I’m not familiar with that one,” she admits quietly, can't think of a different subject to move the conversation towards. Her mind has lost its ground. Her eyes drift back to the necklace. “Does it have a constellation?”

“It stands on its own.”

“What’s its special thing?”

When Leia doesn’t answer, Amilyn forces herself to raise her gaze back to her face. Her lips are quirked up, but there is nothing at the corners of her eyes.

“I like Sadalsuud. Beta Aquarii,” Amilyn blurts, desperate to change the mood. Desperate for that real smile, the amusement, the laughter. “Luckiest of the lucky.”

“That's a lot of luck.”

“Sometimes that’s the only thing we can count on.”

Leia cradles her pint, says nothing. Amilyn claws at her mind for useless facts about space but comes up empty handed at every turn, cannot stop wondering about Leia's star. She runs a hand through her messy hair, trying to put it back in place. Maybe that will put the thing below it back in place as well.

“I like Dorado too,” she offers. “The constellation. But I only have Aquarius tattooed. If you want to -- “

“Love,” Leia speaks, suddenly, cutting Amilyn off with this almost inaudible word. She clears her throat, repeats, “Love,” with more confidence, thumb and forefinger again covering her star of David. “Its special thing. I think.”

“Love.” Amilyn holds onto that word. “That’s a good one.”

Leia nods. “Supposed to be.”

Amilyn doesn’t know how to answer that. It’s back to silence. Leia stares at her beer, but every once in a while sneaks a glance towards Amilyn, as if to reassure herself Amilyn’s still there. It’s late enough for people to be satisfied with the alcohol they had already consumed, and so Amilyn stays there, polishing a glass and glancing back at Leia with her best, non-threatening, genuine smile. If Leia just wants her presence, Amilyn’s okay with that.

Patti Smith drowns the conversations around them, turning it all to a low hum and buzz that is only pierced by Lenny Kaye's guitar every few moments. _Love,_ she thinks. _Here’s something better than luck._

By the time Leia finishes her second pint, Amilyn had polished and re-polished every single glass at her disposal.

“You want another?” she asks.

_Please say yes._

Leia shakes her head no. “I should go.”

“Right.” Amilyn tries to not sound disappointed. It’s late, everybody should probably go.

She lays the glass she was occupied with down, dries her hands on her jeans then stretches one out. Leia shakes it with a firm grip. “It was nice, Leia,” Amilyn tests the name on her lips again, finds it rolling out easily.

Leia’s smile is back at the corner of her eyes. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t say anything else. Amilyn follows her with her eyes as she goes, before she’s forced to look away by the group of lithe men, glitter in their hair saying: “Hey, hun, can we get a last round?”

When her boss comes to help her close up the place, Amilyn finds Leia’s wallet on the floor by her corner. She picks it up, looks if there’s a scribbled number anywhere inside of it so she can make a call and let whoever answers know. But the only thing she finds is a folded picture. Two people, standing in the midst of a desert, cladded in military uniform. One of them is very obviously Leia, though the helmet she wears covers a considerable portion of her face. The boy next to her is holding his helmet to his waist, and his short blond hair almost shines. Leia is planting a kiss to his cheek, the boy is laughing, and around them the desert stretches endlessly.

At the corner, a date is stamped. 03/07/1978.

Amilyn stares and stares and stares, but cannot figure out the situation there. Only that she feels privy to a moment she wasn’t supposed to see. She forces herself to swallow the enthusiasm to have Leia back here down, and reminds herself she is not, under any circumstances, to ask any questions about the picture. She folds the picture back to its original shape, puts the wallet in the register, and thinks, once again, about luck and love.

***

 

Leia wakes up to the sound of knocking – loud, too loud. Her first instinct when she startles, jumps out of bed, is to scold herself for going to sleep bare-footed. The second is to wonder where the fuck her rifle is. The third is to reach for Luke.

All of these dissipate the moment her uncle’s voice echoes through to her: “I hope you got your beauty sleep,” he says, “because we need to talk.”

Leia forces her heart rate to slow down before she drags herself to open the door. Bail gives her a stern look, but with one quick glance at her state his face falls down with concern. She knows he meant no harm, and so she takes a deep breath and forces the English language through.

“Don’t do that again.”

“I’m sorry. I forget you’re not a teenage girl anymore.”

Leia grits her teeth. “It’s not that.”

“I know. But I still forget it.”

She can sense that he considers hugging her, but none of them makes the move. They stand there, Leia breathing hard and Bail unmoving. Eventually, Bail tells her Breha had made breakfast, that they will love it if she comes down to eat with them, and leaves her to get ready.

She looks around at the mess that is her room. It’s May, and her feet are cold; it’s May, and her clothes are wet on the floor; it’s May, and she’s not sweating her ass off during the night no matter if she sleeps naked and with no blankets to take cover under. Her chest shrinks with pain, then expands with possibility.

She’s not in Israel any longer. There is no war.

Picking up her soaked clothes, she hangs the jacket on the back of her chair, and throws the rest in the laundry basket. She draws the curtains open, letting bright, white light sip through the glass, and looks down at the grey street below. Very few people go through here on Sundays, but there is a couple with a trolley walking down, giving her a glimpse of the baby’s round face when they pass.

It’s quiet. Downstairs, Bail and Breha are setting the table for breakfast. If Leia closes her eyes she can see them, just as they were when she was a child: calm, smiling, loving. Steaming pots of tea and coffee that she had grown to find too sweet, eggs and bacon that she had grown to find too oily, fruits that are too colourful.

When Luke and she would come to visit, Bail and Breha would always pull out the best they could find. She supposes this, now that she is permanently here, will pass. The grandiosity will not hold forever. She prefers it gone.

Luke loved it here. Sitting at the table with all these stuff they never could imagine having on a regular basis, talking to their aunt and uncle about school, having their father there before they even knew what politics meant. Before they even knew what it meant to sacrifice everything for it.

Absent-minded, she covers her pendant with thumb and finger. She hadn’t taken the necklace off since she’s gotten to London.

She loved it here, too. She’s not sure she still does, but that’s the only place she could think about during long, cold nights in Beaufort, huddling in her parka, camouflaged, wishing everything would just end with a blast; The warmth of Bail and Breha. That’s the only place she knew she could come to after they drew back from Lebanon, and Luke wasn’t there with them, and Leia was discharged, and Han started drinking, and Leia couldn’t shake the taste of gunpowder and dirt and sweat from her tongue.

She sits down at the breakfast table with her hair gathered in a messy bun (she's still not used to its length), her feet cladded in warm socks. In her suitcase she found a hoodie, one she didn’t even remember packing and smelled like kiddush with Han and Luke, on Friday evenings they were all three of them home; Luke baking the Chala, Han blessing the wine, and Leia falling asleep watching football.

“Good morning,” Breha greets her with a smile. Bail lays a hand on her shoulder as he passes behind her. They have probably talked about Bail freaking Leia out, and decided on a gentler approach.

Leia folds her legs on her chair and mumbles an answer.

“How did you sleep?” Breha offers her the pot of coffee. Leia takes it.

“Okay.” She yawns as she pours the not-black-enough liquid to her cup, adds no milk and no sugar before drinking it.

“I’m sorry,” Bail says again as he takes his place near Breha. Leia nods her recognition.

They sit in silence for a bit. Breha and Bail drink their tea, eat their eggs and their bacon, while Leia shoves pieces of bread in her mouth and drowns them with steaming hot coffee. They exchange so many looks that Leia can’t help but sigh.

“Mah?” she asks. They know enough Hebrew to understand the question, and her tonnage works much better in her mother-tongue.

They exchange another look.

Leia rolls her eyes. “You already said we needed to talk. Just tell me.”

“Look,” Breha begins, treading carefully. “We know we’re not your parents – “

“Closest thing to it I have, though,” Leia feels the urge to say, face softening. It’s true. There is no familial grownup whom she loves and cherishes more than her aunt and uncle. Breha smiles ruefully.

“That’s what we feel, too. But we know we’re not, and that’s why you came here. We know – " Breha’s face contort. They don’t like talking about Leia’s life in Israel. Leia’s fine with that. Breha gives that sentence up completely: “But we were worried last night. You went out. You told us nothing. We only heard the door around four ay am.”

Leia shoves another piece of bread in her mouth, chews it slowly. It has been a while since she regarded how other people were affected by her actions. Han had stopped caring when the alcohol became more important than Leia, and Luke wasn’t there to care anymore. Since she didn’t have to take orders, there wasn’t anything to think about besides how she felt at that moment. And last night, covered in cold sweat and unable to sleep, she felt like running.

She forces the bread down her dry throat. “I’m sorry,” she says, even though she’s not really. She needs to get used to feeling sorry all over again. “Next time I’ll…” She doesn’t even know what to say. That there won’t be a next time? That she’ll be in bed by twelve like the good girl they are familiar with?

Breha covers Leia’s hand with hers. “Just leave us a note, let us know” she says. “We’re not here to tell you what to do, but we do worry.” Between Breha’s warm palm and Bail’s warm eyes, Leia believes them.

She nods.

They do not ask her where she’s been to, so Leia doesn’t tell them about the odd girl with the turquoise hair, who talked like nothing mattered and like everything had a meaning; who made Leia look at her by doing nothing in particular, just because looking at her was looking at someone who was peculiarly alive, and who smiled when Leia smiled. Who spoke _love_ with such ardent emotion that Leia almost believed herself.

It felt strange. It felt different. Leia holds on to the memory so she won’t forget it by the passage of time, so she can have something to willingly look back at. She can go back there, but the idea of tainting the night before with anything seems dangerous to her. Things have a tendency to twist themselves ugly. Like the vine that grew on the side of their childhood home, around the frames of her window, appearing magical to her, growing thicker along the years until she was sick of it and left it behind alongside her father.

A moment captured can make it last forever, just as good as it was. Like a smiling boy in the middle of the desert, kissed by his sister, alive. Such is an odd girl with turquoise hair smiling when Leia does.

Leia pours herself her third cup of coffee. It’s not nearly as strong as the one she used to make the whole squad on the gas burner in the field, all of them singing _Doda_ too loudly. She hears their voices instead of  Dani Sanderson’s.

“...tomorrow?” Bail asks. Leia blinks at him.

“Pardon?”

Her politeness always puts a smile on Breha’s face.

“I said, what are your plans for tomorrow?”

Leia considers evading the question with bread again. Luckily, today she's not required to have plans. But she really doesn’t have any for tomorrow, either. She didn’t come here with anything is mind: work, school, whatever English people did – she doesn’t know what she wants.

“I’m not sure,” she admits. “I’m not sure what I _can_ do.”

“About a job?”

Leia nods, uncertain that that's what she meant. But she will have to get one, eventually. “I’m probably useless at anything besides shooting at moving targets,” she mumbles over the rim of her cup, but her aunt and uncle catch it, and choke on their tea and food, respectively. “Sorry,” she throws them an apologetic wince.

Breha puts a hand on Bail’s shoulder and turns to him as if she just remembered the most important thing in the universe. “Weren’t you looking for an intern?”

Bail raises an eyebrow. “Politics? _British_ politics?”

Breha shrugs. “You can teach her.”

They both turn to look at Leia, who is sitting there, paralyzed, not sure how to respond to that. Bail had stolen her reaction. “It’s… nice of you to offer -- “

“I haven’t offered yet -- “

“I’ll think about it.”

Her uncle laughs, throaty and genuine. “It’s alright, Leia. You don’t have to follow in your family’s footsteps.”

If she closes her eyes, she can see the only picture of her mother she has ever seen: black and white in the newspaper. Murdered. Her father refuses to talk about her. Refuses to acknowledge her. They consistently fought about the right way to run the country, and evidently, her mother lost to the ones who believed you buy peace with blood. Her father being one of them.

She doesn’t really know what her mother was like, as a politician. Most people back in Israel slander her, while on the other side her uncle glorifies her beyond belief. But Leia refuses to build an image of her mother based on that; the only thing she knows, really knows, in a chamber of her heart no one has access to, is that her mother was a good person. Sometimes it seems to her that it is that simple: there are the people who die ( _for a cause_ , Luke used to say. _For nothing_ , Han used to reply), and the people who let them. She never speaks this thought out loud, because "you of all people should know", everybody tells her, "that nothing is ever truly that simple".

But she thinks it, constantly.

By the look of it, Bail and Breha know at least half of what's going through her mind. “You really don’t have to,” Bail stretches. They don’t know how to handle her since she had grown up, don't know how to stop cushioning the subject of her mother.

“I said I’ll think about it.”

She puts more bread in her mouth.

“Well,” Bail holds her gaze as if she's still the child challenging him to see who blinks first. “Then I’ll do my thinking, too.”

None of them blink.

They finish breakfast without saying much else. Leia helps her aunt and uncle clear the table, then goes back to her room. Climbing up the stairs, she looks behind her shoulder to see them hugging and laughing. Sundays are the only day they have for themselves.

Leia remembers, as children Luke and her used to be confused about Sundays here. For them it was as if Saturday decided to last a little longer. They were ecstatic; two kids finding more freedom than they thought possible. Then, turning eighteen-years-old, enlisting, ecstasy gave way to fatigue. At twenty-three, days mattered very rarely; only when they got to be at home, and Leia got to lay her head on Han’s chest and finally sleep.

She wraps her own arms around herself as she continues the rest of the way up. Han's arms are much bigger and longer than hers. If she misses anything the most, it’s the way they had enveloped her. But that barely happened after Luke’s death, anyway.

Leia falls on her bed. The ceiling stares at her. She sighs, forces herself to think about her uncle’s (well, really, _Breha’s_ ) offer. Because she said she would. She doesn't want to, but it's not like she has anything better to think about, as well. Looking at a single picture of her and Luke for the hundredth time since she got here is not exactly productive.

Politics. _British_ politics. She can’t do that. That’s not what she’s built for. She knows it with certainty; debating, being polite, understanding what’s the stakes are and still just _talking_ about it. That isn’t her. That can’t be her.

( _No, you shoot first and ask later. That’s the protocol. Three warnings and then bam. Murder is easy when you have the go ahead.)_

Leia turns on her side, folds her legs to her chest. It all seems useless. It all seems pointless. Nothing ever makes a fucking difference. Nothing ever fucking matters – not a kid’s life, and not thousands of people begging for mercy. Nothing ever makes any fucking sense. She can’t be that person who sits on their high horse and debates _that_.

Leia stretches a hand to her jacket, and fumbles its pocket for her wallet, where the picture lies, so she can look at it for the one hundred and first time. Her wallet, which is not there. She groans, slides out of her bed and takes the jacket off the back of the chair. Fumbling both pockets, she finds the wallet definitely missing. Looking around the floor in her room, Leia throws her head up and groans even louder.

There is no panic, no question in her mind as to where her wallet might be.

She will have to go back to see the girl with the turquoise hair. She will have to go back to see Amilyn again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm putting a slight trigger warning for homophobia here though it's really not very detailed and not the focus, but just in case. I'll be putting necessary trigger warnings (when they are needed) in the notes at the beginning of each chapter.

**ב**

The place's supposed to open at five p.m.; Amilyn decides to arrive at two. She can do with some time alone there anyhow – to clean what she never has time to clean properly, to check for mice again. But most importantly, Amilyn wants to be there when Leia comes to retrieve her wallet. Two p.m. seems like a reasonable hour for that.

She carefully readies herself in front of the mirror. Her hair is in place and will not be messed until later in the night when she has too many people asking for their drink, the jeans she had dyed purple sit on her just right, and her striped jumper has no loose threads. She would have given herself a pep talk if she weren't feeling too self-conscious as it is; one single conversation with a girl she finds attractive should not be giving her any hopes about getting to…what? Kiss her? Talk to her again? Touch her fingertips to her skin and tell her she is beautiful?

No, Amilyn should not give herself a pep talk, because Amilyn should not hope for anything to happen. She probably wouldn't have gotten a chance to see Leia again if not for the lost wallet, and that's from the stars, but it doesn't mean anything to anybody but Amilyn.

The only thing she does remind herself to do is to not talk about the picture. The smiling boy is as visible to her now as he was when she looked at him, grainy and small. The uniform as green, Leia's happiness radiating like a sun beam. Amilyn could not recognize which army they belong to, but she still just wants to see Leia smile.

No, Amilyn should not talk about what people keep in their wallets. She had to apologize for that too many times in her lifetime.

And so Amilyn hangs her backpack off one shoulder and walks out of her apartment. She lives just a few minutes' walk from her job, in a crampy little place she can call her own. It's enough to sleep and eat in, so Amilyn doesn't complain – not about the heating problems, not about the cockroaches, not about the peeling walls. It's her house. Her home. It's hers.

Back in Cornwall, her parents have the most airy, most beautifully lit house. At night she could even gaze at the stars out of the French windows in their living room while doing her homework, up too late. She used to sit with her best friend, studying for A levels on the bed in her room, and close her eyes: imagine them kissing in the kitchen while the sun shines through, at that perfect time of day when it paints rainbows over the kitchen sink and they are both smiling. But truth is, right now she hates it more than she hates the darkness of her own place, and kissing girls always meant to be away from there.

As she rounds the corner of Dean Street, she realizes two p.m. had been too late. Leia is sitting on the step near the door to the pub, smoking a cigarette and playing with some stones at her feet. Amilyn approaches her as quickly as she can without running.

She's wearing the same boots, the same jacket, her pendant hanging proudly, but underneath it is a shirt with a funny drawing on it; the sun shining on boats in a lake, and it all seems to have been drawn by a five-year-old. It's endearing.

"Leia," Amilyn says, remembers to pronounce the ee and the ah. "Sorry I'm late." She puts her hands in her pockets, as casual as possible.

Leia raises her head. The stone she has thrown up in the air falls on the pavement.

"I think I'm the one who's early."

Amilyn waves her hand dismissively. "Tomayto, Tomahto…"

"Not really," Leia laughs, short, but nonetheless audible. A moment of silence, of Amilyn rocking back and forth on her heels, of Leia turning her head back to the pavement, then: "So you found my wallet?" Hopeful, but not anxious.

 _So you remember me?_ Amilyn wants to ask in return. _So you knew it was here the same way I knew you will know it is here?_ "Of course," she says instead, offers Leia her hand. "Let me open the door, I'll get it."

Rubbing her hands on her trousers to clean off the dirt from the stones, Leia grabs Amilyn's hand, and Amilyn pulls up. She nearly falls, not ready for how strong Leia actually is – they end up in reverse roles, where Leia is the one who helps Amilyn steady herself back on her feet. With Leia's hands on her shoulders and Leia's eyes locked with hers in concern, Amilyn blushes.

"Sorry," she mumbles, shifts her eyes aside.

"Okay?" Leia searches her face for something.

"It's just your muscles," is what comes out of Amilyn's mouth. Leia lets her go and steps aside, so Amilyn will have access to the door. She kicks the ground, seeming nervous all of a sudden.

"Sorry 'bout that, then."

Amilyn doesn't want to go on like this. This is impossible. This is awkward and even she knows it. "Let's cut the sorry circle short, shall we?" she smiles at Leia as she unlocks the door. Leia laughs that small laugh again. A huff, maybe. But it's cute.

She nods as she follows Amilyn in, shutting the door behind them, leaving them in stale darkness until Amilyn blindly finds the switch. She hums a song she does not remember the name of to herself as the light flickers on and she draws the curtains open, moves to get Leia's wallet from the register.

"Looks different." Amilyn's not sure if Leia is talking to her or to herself, so she gives her the courtesy of not answering. She fumbles with the key that will release her prisoner and send Leia away once again, to return probably never. Swallowing, she realises she did not think beyond the moment of exchange. She pretends the register is stuck. "You look different." Leia makes her drop the key. She is definitely talking to Amilyn now, and _about_ Amilyn. Amilyn looks below her lashes.

"I do?"

She cannot fathom in what way, besides being less miserable. Then again, she cannot fathom in what way the pub looks different, besides being less miserable, as well. She likes it better when its empty, but that's just because there are very rarely people whom she understands here. Or anywhere.

"You do," Leia asserts, takes a step closer, but still stays near the entrance.

Amilyn picks the key up and fumbles with it once again, still pretending the register is stuck. "In what way?"

She doesn't dare look.

"It's probably because I'm not sleep deprived and half drunk."

"I don't believe you were half drunk."

"And why's that?"

"With your body mass and served in the military? No way in h – " Amilyn cuts herself short, biting her bottom lip. She wasn't supposed to talk about the picture. The key falls again.

But Leia doesn't seem to take any special notice to the fact Amilyn had looked inside her wallet. "Not all soldiers are heavy drinkers."

"They are, here."

"I'm not from here."

Finally, Amilyn raises her head. Leia had taken a significant number of steps farther in. She is also shaking her head. "No, it's not me, it's you. You look different."

"What is it?" Amilyn asks, swallows heavy under Leia's now intense gaze. What she really wants to know is where Leia's from, but she doesn't dare ask that. Last night it made Leia stare blankly away from Amilyn.

Leia opens her mouth to respond, but quickly gives up on that, shakes her head and looks down. "I don't know. I don't know."

There are a number of reasons that come to mind. "Could be my aura. The alignment of the stars. The shape of the moon." Leia gives her an incredulous look. "I'm serious!" Amilyn insists. It's this type of things that change her, always. Change anybody, really. People should be more tuned in with the universe.

"Alright," Leia says, but she still seems doubtful. "I still think it's just _you."_

Amilyn decides to stop pursuing this subject, because it's only confusing her. The only thing she can come up with now is giving Leia her wallet back. She guesses it is due time. By now, Leia had come so close she is leaning on the wooden counter like she did last night.

Amilyn opens the register and pulls the wallet out. "Here," she hands it to Leia, who wraps her fingers around it even as Amilyn is reluctant to let go. _Stay, stay, stay;_ she tries to think it into existence.

She let's go.

"Israel," Leia says.

Amilyn blinks. "Hm?"

"Israel. That's where I'm from. That's where the picture was taken. And the boy – that's my brother." She seems visibly tense, but she still shares this information with Amilyn, and that's beyond Amilyn's own comprehension at the moment. That she would not just leave, that she would stay and talk.

Amilyn's mind reels into a stop. "You don’t care that I looked?"

Leis shrugs. "You had to see whose wallet it was." Her thumb and forefinger close around her star of David again.

Evidently, Amilyn doesn't know much about Israel; nothing beyond bits and pieces from the newspapers. She never paid much attention.

Out of the many follow up questions that can and should be asked, what burns inside Amilyn is: "Is the desert really endless?"

Leia tilts her head in surprise. She visibly relaxes, and a smile creeps to her lips. "No, not at all. Not that one, at least."

"You seem small. The both of you."

"The desert makes you feel small."

"I've never been."

Leia looks down. It seems bashful, this time. Like she isn't avoiding Amilyn's eyes, but her own. "At night, you can see the whole galaxy up in the sky."

Amilyn knows this is factually incorrect. The stars are not the same under every sky. It does matter where you stand. Two lovers apart would not look at the same ones and know they are still together. But the sentiment is so strong in Leia's words, that Amilyn doesn't feel the need to correct her.

"Do you see your star?" she asks, instead.

Leia closes her eyes. "I can see it right now."

The image of Leia with her eyes shut, her fingers holding onto her pedant and the solemn expression on her face, makes Amilyn feel as if she intruded on someone's prayer. But she also cannot look away. There is a slight blush to Leia's cheeks, a loose strand of hair falling out of her messy bun, her lips slightly parted. Amilyn gets the urge to kiss her, stronger than a hopeless hope, so strong she needs to resist the pull.

When Leia blinks her eyes open, Amilyn cannot stop herself from blurting out: "Do you dance?"

Leia appears to be disoriented. "Pardon?"

"It's just. There's this club I've been meaning to go to and I hate going alone so I wondered if you dance. Or rather, if you like dancing, because everybody dances, that's just facts."

Leia's eyes widen. Maybe that was a mistake. Amilyn should have kept her mouth shut and possibly get a few more minutes with Leia and let her go. Her hand instinctively goes to cover the Aquarius constellation on her forearm.

"Sorry I – " Leia begins. Amilyn braces herself for disappointment. Instead, she gets the sound of shuttering glass.

Amilyn's instinctive reaction to bricks being thrown at her is not what self-preservation would usually allow. Head shooting up towards the pinkish stone, she often strides right to the broken windowsill, throws the nastiest words she is familiar with after the thrower who is already on the run, away from her. There is no moment of hesitation, no moment of fear – the panic that grips her is one of anger, fury. She surges forwards now as well but…

But Leia's on the floor, face down, some sort of combative defensive pose. Amilyn halts, looks down at her. Leia's eyes are shut, her breath laboured. She's shaking just at the arms, which are holding her up from being completely leveled with the floor.

"Leia?" Amilyn is more than concerned; she's baffled.

Leia takes one deep breath, then jumps up like it's nothing. "Sorry," she says, looking down, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Basic training."

Except to Amilyn it didn't look like healthy instincts; it looked like something unreasonable gripped at Leia, against her better judgment. She wants to reach out and brush Leia's hair behind her ear – it's disheveled, and when Leia runs her hand through it, she makes it worse.

Leia breathes in again, shaky. A bothersome breeze is blowing through the broken window, but Amilyn doesn't think that that's why Leia's shivering.

"Can I get you some water?" she asks as gently as she possibly can. Leia nods.

There is nothing normal about Leia's reaction to the brick. Not that Amilyn's own usual reaction is even close to normal, but there must be a middle ground where most people stand. Amilyn knows just enough to wonder.

She fills a pint with water up to the brim and walks back to where Leia is still shivering. "Here," she hands it to her. Leia takes the pint carefully, holds it with white knuckles and gulps the water down. Amilyn doesn't take her eyes off her.

"I have to clean this mess up and call my boss, but you can sit down for a bit. Tell me if you need anything else?"

For a moment, Leia doesn't respond at all. Looks like she didn't even hear Amilyn. Then: "No." She shakes her head fiercely, louder than anything else she'd said since the fall of the brick until now. Amilyn opens her mouth, but Leia goes on. "No, no. I can't. I have to go."

She thrusts the pint to Amilyn chest, water splashing on Amilyn's jumper as she is forced to grab it before it will fall. Leia's walking fast towards the exit, but Amilyn's instincts are sharp enough to reach her and grab at her forearm. Leia halts and tenses up.

"You're all shaken up," Amilyn pleads. "Sit for five minutes. Have a smoke." She's not sure if she's being more gracious than selfish right now, or the other way around.

Amilyn searches for Leia's eyes until Leia gives them to her. Her jaw is as tense as her arm.

"What does it matter?" She holds Amilyn's gaze, courageous.

"It matters to me."

"Why?"

Amilyn shrugs. "I care about people."

It's not even half a lie, but it's not the whole truth, either. Amilyn herself doesn't know the whole truth. Leia holds her gaze a couple moments more, then breaks the staring contest, nods once, determined. "Five minutes," she says as Amilyn releases her hold on her. Amilyn repeats the words in a whisper.

As Leia sits down and lights a cigarette up, Amilyn exhales, let's the tension in her body release to the air.

***

Two drags from her cigarette has Leia's heartbeat at a better pace. A second cigarette has her mind less cloudy. Drinking some more of the water Amilyn had brought her, Leia inhales and exhales smoke, inhales and exhales reason.

She watches Amilyn sweeping the floor – her sleeves folded to her elbows, her hair gathered to a small ponytail – and can't comprehend the situation they have landed themselves into. That Leia had landed herself into. After doing exactly what she didn't want to do, because for some reason, looking at Amilyn made her want to stay.

Amilyn did not seem even faintly surprised or terrified about the brick that smashed her window; she seemed more surprised and terrified about Leia's reaction to it. Sitting here smoking Leia had searched for any signs of discomfort in Amilyn's body but saw only exasperation and the unexplainable concern she had shown towards Leia.

Leia gets that. Leia's used to that. But most of the time, there aren't any actual threats when she overreacts, and most of the time, when people care about her it's because they know her. Amilyn must be as used to bricks flying towards her as much as Leia is used to herself.

She taps the ash off her cigarette into an ashtray she made from a cardboard coaster, rolls the filter between her fingers. The familiar almost-burning sensation of a cigarette that is running out is something her body can focus on. Something her mind can latch onto.

"How often does this happen?" she asks as her fingers get burnt and she has to throw the butt away.

Amilyn, now crouching to sweep the broken glass into the dustpan, looks up at her, a bitter smile on her face. "Every now and then."

Leia folds her legs up on her seat, leans her chin on the knees and wraps her arms around the shins. Amilyn turns back to her sweeping.

A mess. A warzone. An ugly twist.

"They hate you this much?"

"They hate us. Me, you, those boys with the glitter in their hair. We're here, we're queer, and they'd never gotten used to it."

Leia swallows hard, lights up another cigarette. She came here on a whim. She knew what she entered but she came here on a whim. She was never included so simply under these identities, in such an instant and resolute way. She was Han's girlfriend, and the soldier who never had time to think. She was a kid with a dead mother and a teenager with an estranged father. She was always far from where it all happened; far from everything that happened. Luke came home with that magazine once, that had boys kissing in it; he sat down on the bed in Leia's room because he knew their father never came inside there. She remembers it so well – him flipping curiously through the pages, asking Leia if she ever thought about girls the way she thinks about boys. She didn't know what to say back then. Just shrugged and said she only thinks about Han. Luke nodded solemnly and asked to hide the magazine in Leia's room. She put it under her mattress and stared at her night-lamp shining in the dark and thought about Han.

She doesn't know what to say right now, either. As the silence stretches on and on, Amilyn puts the shards of glass in a plastic bag and the brick on the counter. "That doesn't happen in Israel?" she asks as she sits on the chair next to Leia, facing backwards, legs spread around its back, and lights up a cigarette for herself.

Leia looks down. "I've never… been to a place where this might happen."

"Oh." Amilyn blinks. She very obviously doesn't know what to do with that. "Are you…?"

 _Am I what?_ Leia wants to ask, but she doesn't know how. She fumbles with words: "I'm not… I don't…"

"You're not…?" Amilyn seems lost herself, as well.

"I don't know." Leia's shoulders spasm. "I don't know," she repeats.

Amilyn ashes her cigarette on the floor. A beat. "Would you like to find out?"

When Leia dares to look up, she finds Amilyn staring resolutely at the floor. "I don't know," she speaks the truth.

Amilyn nods, brings a hand up to release her small ponytail. Leia's chest feels heavy again, her heart picking up pace, her mind cloudier. There isn't anything else she can say.

"Do what feels good," Amilyn says, ruffles her own hair. "Never anything else."

"That sounds like hedonism."

Amilyn laughs, short and wild and real. She gets up, turns towards Leia and spreads her arms as she walks backwards over to the telephone. "That's what they all say."

Leia can't help but smile at that. She watches Amilyn dialing up a number far too quickly. Her cigarette is dangling between her lips, her sleeves are still folded, revealing the tattoo she had very briefly brought up yesterday. _Do what feels good._

Amilyn informs her boss of the situation. The conversation takes no more than a minute, and then she's looking back at Leia. "You look better," she notes.

"So I have permission to leave?"

Amilyn snorts. "You also sound like yourself."

"You barely know me."

"We can change that."

Leia opens her mouth to respond, but Amilyn raises a hand and cuts her off: "Look. I need to wait around for the handyman. We can have a drink meanwhile; my boss won't allow me to open up the place before the window is fixed. If it feels good, stay with me for a bit."

Leia gets up, runs her hands down her thighs. Her palms are sweaty. "Whatever feels good now," she begins, takes a deep breath. "It can't be good forever."

Amilyn lays two tumblers down on the bar. "No promises, princess. Forever is for fairytales. You like scotch?"

Leia considers that. _No promises_. Something appeals her in admitting that. She glances towards the broken windowsill, the plastic bag filled with shards of glass, the pink brick on the counter. It's already rotten. But within that, between that… Amilyn had looked different – sharper, like watching the night-sky in the desert for the first time.

"You have anything with anise in it?"

Amilyn beams at her. Leia feels it reflecting off herself. She walks over to Amilyn as Amilyn pours them both more than enough ouzo.

"Here." She slides one tumbler towards Leia, holds her own up in the air. "Cheers," she says before she drinks.

"Cheers," Leia replies. Then, after drinking: "I still don't know."

Amilyn clinks their tumblers together. "I know."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really sorry for not posting this earlier because it was ready but i had troubles with my computer so uhhh. anyway, content warning for homophobic acts of vandalism which are discussed briefly. i hope you'll enjoy!

**ג**

By three-thirty p.m. the handyman has yet to arrive. Kier, Amilyn said was his name; Leia had drunk enough ouzo to drawl the name out and make Amilyn laugh. Now well into their third tumbler, Amilyn is leaning on one elbow, counting on the fingers of her other hand as she recounts the top five brick-incidents that happened while she was in the place.

As she pops up a fourth finger, she bites her bottom lip in contemplation and looks up at the ceiling. "I can never settle on this one."

Leia taps her fingers on the pink brick, follows Amilyn's refined jawline down to Amilyn's stretched, long neck. Han loved kissing her own neck; he always treated it like a treasure. "How many incidents are on the general list?"

"Eleven. Well, twelve, now." Amilyn glances at her in response to Leia's doubtful sound and rolls her eyes in response to Leia's raised eyebrow. "I've worked here a while… Oh, alright," she sighs, folds her arms and leans forward, closer to Leia, who already moved her hand away from the brick to swirl the ouzo in her tumbler and focus on its circular movement. "Number four would be what I like to call The Accidental Hate-Crime."

Leia instantly stops swirling the liquid and raises her eyes to see Amilyn smiling mischievously. "The accidental Hate-Crime," she repeats, deadpanned.

"Yup. I've managed to catch the boy that time, and apparently, he had no idea what he was throwing the brick at. His friends and him were just daring each other into acts of vandalism. I told him Godspeed, but never mess with me again."

Leia doesn't know if she should laugh or not. She's staring at Amilyn wide-eyed and on the verge of giggles, but all of it feels off. Like she shouldn't be allowed to be part of the joke. Like nothing of it should even be a joke. Amilyn drinks a mouthful of ouzo, waits for Leia's response, which Leia is still incapable of giving.

"The other ones were way worse, come on," Amilyn tries to encourage her. "Let it out."

"Fuck," she finally manages, a giggle or two escaping alongside the word. She drowns a good portion of her own drink and runs a hand on the back of her neck. She has no idea how Amilyn manages to be so casual about it all: number one, the home-made smoke grenade attached to the brick; number two, the missing E in 'queer'; number three, the moment of realization that the thrower was in college with her; number four…

"You don't like this," Amilyn interrupts Leia's train of thought. There is no question in her voice, but it had softened and flattened.

Leia drinks some more. "No," she admits. "How do you take it so lightly?"

Amilyn shrugs. "What else will I do?"

_Fight it, fight them, fight,_ Leia wants to say, but stops herself. That has always been her instant response, that has always been what she was meant to do in any situation of attack on her person or the persons around her. She knows nothing else. Maybe Amilyn does.

Amilyn picks the brick up, examines it. "We have a collection at the backroom, you know. 'To remind us of what we are', my boss says."

"And what's that?"

Brows furrowed, brick held up to the light like a glass of wine, Amilyn speaks: "No idea." Before Leia can ask anything further, Amilyn is walking away with the brick. "I'll put this in place. What do you listen to? If Kier's not coming anytime soon we might as well play some tunes." She raises her voice more and more the farther she gets from where Leia is still sitting, swirling her ouzo once again.

"Not much," Leia replies, absentminded. Amilyn moves so quickly from subject to subject, from heavy to light, while Leia is still caught up on what she last said. It seems as if every word that comes out of the girl's mouth is laden with meaning, possibility, fascination. That might be heightened by how much Leia had to drink, but she doesn't like to think too much of that.

She only catches the end of what Amilyn is calling at her from the backroom: "…upbeat?" Before Leia has the chance to ask for a repeat, Amilyn returns to her with a handful of vinyls. "There isn't much of a selection here, but these are the best we've got."

Leia feels herself blushing, a bit ashamed for only recognizing two names out of the six vinyls that Amilyn had spread out on the bar. Han had always tried to get his hands on more records back at the time, but nothing much reached them, beside what was produced in Israel. The day Leia and Luke stopped flying out to London, and therefore stopped getting him the latest of the latest, was a time of mourning for him. "I really don’t listen to much music," she murmurs over the brim of her tumbler. Her eyes are glued to the names she is familiar with, as if her mind is finding comfort in what it knows. Amilyn appears to have followed her gaze, as she runs her hand over Bruce Springsteen's monochrome face on the cover of _The River_.

"Always a hit with the girls, this one," she tries her hand at teasing Leia, but Leia is too far inside her own head to truly notice that. She hums in response. Amilyn's fingers are still running over Bruce's face. If Leia stares for long enough, she can see something of Han in there. "I can't read you," Amilyn declares then, frustrated, teasing all vanquished. Leia hums again in question, forces herself to raise her eyes away from Bruce, which has almost completely transformed himself to Han now. Amilyn is examining her like the brick. The word slips out of her mouth with no second-thought, tired.

"Mah?"

That only makes Amilyn more confused. She tries to repeat the word back to Leia.

"Sorry," Leia shakes her head. "I meant, what?"

"What language was that?"

"Hebrew."

Amilyn nods, thoughtful. She's staring curiously at Leia for a long moment. "I just meant that I thought Bruce caught your eye, but then it seemed more like spellbound misery."

Leia blinks at the last combination of words. "What's that means?"

"Sometimes we are attracted to the things that pain us."

"It's not – " she begins, but Amilyn shushes her with a finger to her lips.

"Memories are only invisible when your face is." Now it's Leia's turn to furrow her brows. Before she can even move, though, Amilyn is once again out of reach. Bruce Springsteen in hand, she swiftly moves towards the turntable. She carefully slides the first part out to her palms. "So which song is it that haunts you?" she asks – blunt, goal oriented. She spins the vinyl between two single fingers on each side of it.

Leia swallows. Liquid courage. She heard about that, but her own courage was never awoken in this particular way; it was always anger which sparked a forwardness in her. "The tenth."

As soon as the single hit on the snare drum of _I Wanna Marry You_ echoes through the speakers, Leia can see them. Han would always offer Leia his hand first, but every time she would refuse, and he would drag Luke to the middle of the living room, manhandling him into the desired position while he protested weakly and laughed before starting to dance along the rhythm. His accent was heavy as he sang the words, and Leia would watch his fingers clutching Luke's hip while telling her she can't get away from this forever, _motek._

She feels very sober.

"Did he?" Amilyn asks, closer to Leia now, closer than Leia thought she is.

"Did he what?" She plucks the words out of her core.

"The boy whom you're thinking about. Did he marry you?"

"He wasn't the type."

Leia looks at Amilyn from the corner of her eye; Amilyn is swaying, moving her legs and her hips and her head. Leia has no idea what's so appealing to her about this girl, but evidently, she stayed and stayed and stayed, and feels like staying and staying and staying. She doesn't ask how come Amilyn manages to ask all the wrong and right questions. There's something freeing in not wondering.

"Were you?" Amilyn asks.

Leia lets the song play on. She watches as Amilyn, eyes closed, mouths the words reverently. She watches as she dances towards the door when Kier knocks. She watches as she kisses Kier's cheek, and other cheek, and can't pay attention to what they're saying, but she watches as Kier flexes his biceps and Amilyn feels them, friendly in a way Leia haven't seen anybody be in a long while. Kier waves at her, and she waves back, but she mainly watches Amilyn, who's dancing her way back to her while Kier takes a closer look at the broken window.

"You asked if I dance," Leia blurts when Amilyn reaches her. Amilyn is taken aback only briefly; she quickly regains her ground and affirms Leia's statement.

"I do," Leia says, and hopes she won't need to clarify too much what she's after. Because that might just turn her off the whole idea. She's not sure what she's doing.

Amilyn spins in place, and when she's facing Leia again her hand is stretched out in an offer. Leia takes it, gets off the stool just as the harmonica plays its opening lines for the next song.

"It's a slow one," Amilyn warns.

"I know," Leia replies, fakes confidence.

Amilyn is careful when she positions herself with one hand on Leia's waist, the other holding Leia's hand. She's farther then Leia thought she would stand, but Leia does nothing about that, simply puts her own hand on Amilyn's shoulder.

They begin moving. If Kier wonders what's going on, he doesn't say a thing about it. Behind Bruce's voice there are Kier's tools knocking and scratching, but Leia drowns it all out. She looks into Amilyn's eyes.

"How long have you two known each other?"

"Me and Kier? He's been working with my boss here since before I came." Amilyn sneaks a glance at him, her lips curling up at the corner. "He's a good man. A bit too shy for his own good, but he's got his charm. Worked on me, at least." Her voice is too low to be overheard by anyone standing farther away than Leia is. Leia matches it for the next question:

"Did you ever…?" she doesn't know the exact word she should use. Amilyn is looking right at her once again, and even though Leia was the one to put them here, her anxiety is rising. Her movements a bit clumsy.

Amilyn seems to be picking up on that, since she begins to take control over their steps. "Never. Kier's a man of many hats, but women are not one of them."

Before Leia can think of a response or a follow up question, Amilyn directs her into a spin, then into a dip. Leia's breath hitches as Amilyn pulls her back into the horizontal position. Amilyn's cheeks are blushed, like she didn't expect herself to do that, but she doesn't say a word. Her eyes wonder away from Leia's. But Leia can't stop looking at her.

"What's the fifth one?" she asks.

"Hm?"

"On your top-five list. The fifth most special brick-incident. You didn't say."

"Oh." Amilyn's breath comes out in a rush. Her hand squeezes Leia's waist, then releases. "This one," she whispers.

Not thinking too much about it, Leia pulls her closer. Her own heart beats too fast, her throat tight, but she can feel Amilyn vibrating as she wraps her arm around Leia's back, closes her eyes. She moves them both from side to side, forward, backwards. Leia lets her.

"Can I ask…?"

"What?"

Side to side, forwards, backwards. "Who was he?"

"My brother's best friend. We've been together since middle school."

"And now?"

Side to side, forwards, backwards. Leia's throat is closing, her chest so tight she feels the weight of it. She can see them moving just as Amilyn and her are moving right now. She's not sure sounds are actually coming out of her mouth when she says: "There's nothing, now."

"I want to kiss you," Amilyn warns.

"I know," Leia replies. She leans her head against Amilyn's shoulder, smelling lavender. If she should feel anything but comfortable, she simply can't. But she also can't kiss Amilyn.

"But this…" Amilyn shakes her head. "This is good."

The song plays on.

***

 

Amilyn can barely feel her body as she hurries to lift the needle off the record before it scratches. She needs to remind her boss to fix that, but she can't pay any mind to this problem at the moment. She flips the record and _Point Blank_ soon enough echoes through the speakers, but she knows it was only that one song she had to dance with Leia. Two deep breaths, straightening her back, and she's ready to face Leia again. Barely.

She turns around, takes a small bow and says, as casually as she possibly can: "Thank you for a lovely dance."

Leia is standing still in the middle of the room, her hands in her pockets. Her lips tremble into a smile that Amilyn can't read.

"Am," Kier calls to her, and Amilyn is thankful that she doesn't need to say something else to Leia, because she really doesn't know what might come out of her mouth, and if it will be worse than telling her she wants to kiss her. She skips to his side. "Well, it's done. Gets a quicker fix with any throw, eh?"

"Practice makes perfect." Amilyn puts a hand around his shoulder as he steps off the chair he was using while fixing the window. "Tell him?" she asks.

"I will. Should be fine to open the place up."

"Alright." Amilyn plants one kiss to his cheek, then hurries to open the door for him. "Thank you, baby boy."

"No problem. And, um…" Kier nods towards Leia, a knowing smile on his face.

"Don't." Amilyn simply says. He laughs and shakes his head, kisses her forehead before ducking out and disappearing quickly down the street. When she turns back to Leia, Leia quickly glances away from her. There isn't anything strange about her behaviour, nothing that she didn't do before the dance – everything is only heightened, because Amilyn was so close, and she can't stop Leia's scent from burning deep into her consciousness.

They are about to enter the awkward silence phase; Amilyn's not sure she can handle that. They are about to say goodbye again; Amilyn's not sure she can handle _that._

"Thank you," she says again, just to make sure Leia fully understands that she does not mind that kissing was off the table. She's the one who made the stupid, careless mistake of brining that up anyway. Leia nods, rocks on her heels with her hands in her pockets, looks almost as small as she did in the desert. "I need to open the place up," she continues regretfully, hoping that Leia will make the move to sustain… This. Whatever this is. "I mean, you can stay but, I guess you have other things to do. Or, I don't know – "

Leia huffs. "I should find something to do."

Amilyn doesn't even know if Leia's planning to stay in London, return home, go somewhere else. She feels she knows Leia so intimately, and yet she knows close to nothing at all. "Are you in town for long?"

Leia nods again. "Yeah. I'm here."

Amilyn can't bring herself to ask the follow up question.

Leia finally looks back at her. "And it'll be nice to have a friend while I'm at it," she says.

Amilyn manages to keep herself calm. "Well, whenever you want me..."

Leia nods again, then looks around her, as if she's taking everything in one last time. Eventually, her eyes move back to Amilyn, as if she's taking _her_ in one last time. Amilyn stands there for her a moment, then steps aside to clear Leia's line to the door.

But resolute, Leia approaches her instead of walking out. She hands Amilyn a piece of paper. "Thank you," she says ardently.

"For what?" Amilyn wonders. Leia shrugs. Amilyn looks down at the scribbled telephone number. "I don't have one at my place but if you want – "

"Just call me. If you want to. I'll probably be home." Gently, Leia wraps Amilyn's fingers around the piece of paper. She squeezes the fist she had created. Without thinking too much about it, Amilyn surrenders her instincts and ducks her head, plants a dry kiss to Leia's cheek. Leia doesn't flinch away. "Have a good evening, Leia," Amilyn murmurs.

**Author's Note:**

> again, if you have any questions about anything that confused you, let me know and i'll try to answer them as best as i can! 
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](https://straperine.tumblr.com/) if you need me!


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